World War 3
by rmm55
Summary: When a third world war breaks out, their loyalties are pushed to the breaking point. Among the Allies, tensions are strained between the eastern front and the western front. In Germany's home, the past collides with the future as friendships are tested and new bonds are forged amidst the turmoil of war. And through all of this, a betrayer lurks within the ranks of friends.
1. Chapter 1

The pain woke him from his dreams. It started out as a tingly, prickling sensation, and then grew until his entire body ached. With every throb of pain, he could feel another bomb dropped, another life lost.

He sat up and rubbed his bloodshot, sleepless eyes. Machine guns and plane engines roared in his mind, pulsing in time to the beat of his heart. A coughed forced its way through his raw throat.

A small, warm hand touched his shoulder.

"Luddy? Are you okay?"

For the past three nights, Ludwig Beilschmidt had been awoken by the pleas of his friend and ally, Feliciano Vargas.

"_Luddy!" he had cried the first night. "I had a bad dream; can I come sleep with you?"_

_Bleary-eyed and half-asleep, Ludwig had asked, "I-Italy? What the hell are you doing in my bed?"_

"_I had a bad dream!" Feliciano repeated. "I don't want to be alone, so can I please come and sleep with you? It's just for tonight, I promise!"_

It had happened every night since then, though. Ludwig didn't mind. At times, it was even nice having Feliciano sleeping peacefully beside him. Ludwig's insomnia hadn't bothered him for three nights, and while he was glad for the extra sleep, he couldn't shake the feeling that he should be doing something to help his nation instead.

"Luddy?" Feliciano asked again.

Ludwig blinked. "Ja, I am fine."

"You don't look fine."

Ludwig looked at Feliciano in surprise. Normally unobservant, the little Italian had surprising moments of perception.

"Luddy, you can tell me!" Feliciano promised. He grabbed Ludwig's hand and clutched it tightly. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"Nein, Feliciano," Ludwig said softly. "They are bombing Berlin."

Feliciano's eyes widened. "Luddy! We have to do something! We have to –"

"Feliciano, hush. There is nothing we can do."

"There must be something!"

Another bomb dropped, and Ludwig cried out at the blistering pain that shot through his body. He leaned forward, clutching his stomach as his breath came in short pants.

"Get Gilbert," he managed to whisper. Feliciano took off, running out of the room with a speed only Italians could muster. Ludwig struggled to his feet, only to fall to his knees as another spasm of pain shot down his spine. In the distance, he could hear Feliciano's frightened voice calling for Gilbert, but it seemed too far away to be real. The room spun before his eyes as he crumpled to the ground, the world fading to black.

.

"Kesesesese!"

Gilbert Beilschmidt took another swig of beer, laughing to himself as it soothed his burning throat. The alcohol numbed his connection to Berlin, leaving him free of the pain of the bombing.

On the other side of the room, Roderich Edelstein neatly unpacked his things from the oversized traveling bag on his bed.

"Hey, Roddy." Gilbert flashed the Austrian a drunken grin. "Want to come to bed with me?"

Roderich stiffened. "No, Gilbert. You are drunk, I have no interest in you, and I would appreciate it if you could leave me alone.

Gilbert's grin widened. "Nein, what fun would that be?"

Roderich's frown deepened. "I assure you, it would be a great deal of fun for me," he replied without looking at Gilbert.

"Kesese! Your life would be so boring without me!"

At that, Roderich turned to glare at Gilbert. "I seem to have managed perfectly fine without you these last few years." Without waiting for a response, he strode from the room, intent of finding a piano and an hour of quiet playing.

Unfortunately, Gilbert had different ideas.

"Aw, Roddy, don't be mad at me! I'm too awesome for that!"

Gilbert's drunken footsteps followed him down the hallway. Roderich sighed.

"Gilbert, must you follow me?"

"Ja!"

Another sigh escaped his lips. The beginning of a migraine pulsed behind his eyes. The peace and quiet of his home in Vienna seemed far away. Had it been Roderich's decision, he never would have left. Though he was a member of the reformed Axis Powers, Roderich had no desire to mix with the loud, arrogant, obnoxious nations that were also a part of the Axis Powers. Gilbert in particular had been a person he was eager to avoid.

Gilbert, however, had sought him out. The fact that he was drunk only served to irritate Roderich more. The stupid grin on Gilbert's face never wavered as he walked, swaying tipsily. Frowning, Roderich took the ex-nation's arm and started to lead him back to his room.

"Taking me to bed?" Gilbert laughed. "Should I invade your vital regions again?"

Roderich flushed. "Is it really necessary for you to refer to it in that crass manner?"

Snickering, Gilbert asked, "Are you really that much of a prude?"

"I am not a prude!" Roderich declared hotly. "I believe that wars deserve the proper respect. You should not refer to them so lightly."

Gilbert snorted and opened his mouth to respond, but froze. Roderich glanced at him questioningly.

"Berlin," Gilbert hissed as he took yet another swig of beer. "They're bombing Berlin."

"What?" Roderich's eyes grew wide. "How damaged is the city?"

Slowly, Gilbert shook his head. "I . . . I can't tell."

"You're drunk!" Roderich exclaimed. "Is that why you've been drinking?"

Gilbert shrugged and looked away, Hesitant, Roderich reached out and touched his shoulder.

"It's okay," he said. "They won't destroy Berlin."

"How do you know that?"

Just above a whisper, Gilbert's voice was so quiet that Roderich wasn't sure he was meant to hear it. He shifted, grimacing, as he tried to find the right words to say, but nothing came to mind. He had never been good at giving comfort to others. Though he hated to see his friends upset, Roderich always found himself to be too awkward to do much good.

"Come on," he mumbled. "You should lie down."

Gilbert was unnaturally quiet as Roderich took his arm and led him back to the Austrian's room. Without a word, he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes.

"Roddy," he mumbled around a yawn.

"Yes?" Roderich sat down on the edge of the bed.

Peeking his eyes open, Gilbert looked at him for a long moment. The startling red eyes held Roderich's violet eyes in a question gaze.

"Stay," he whispered.

"Yes," Roderich replied without hesitation. "I'll stay."

Gilbert nodded once, closed his eyes, and was asleep before Roderich could so much as blink.

.

He tore through the house as fast as his legs could carry him, calling for Gilbert as quietly as he could. Though Ludwig was in pain, Feliciano would hate to wake up anyone else. He didn't think Ludwig would want the others to see him weakened, either.

"Gilbert!" Feliciano whispered again. He snuck a peek into different rooms, hurrying along as fast as he could.

_Oh, where is Gilbert's room?_ Feliciano wondered. He thought Ludwig had told him, but so much had happened since everyone moved in that it had slipped his mind. Cursing his scatterbrained attempts to remember, Feliciano opened another door.

"Roderich! Oh, thank gosh, I was –"

"Hush! He is sleeping, Feliciano."

Feliciano blinked and peered around Roderich. Sure enough, Gilbert's silver hair stuck out between the covers, expression peaceful as he slept.

"Luddy needs help!" Feliciano whispered. "He asked me to find Gilbert!"

"What does he need help with? Can it wait until the morning?"

Feliciano shook his head, sending his curl flying back and forth. "No! Luddy needs Gilbert's help right now!"

"Is it about Berlin?"

Nodding, Feliciano mumbled something in Italian. Mystified, Roderich stared at him for a moment before shaking his head.

"There's nothing we can do, Feli," Roderich said softly. "Go back to Ludwig and tell him that Gilbert is finally sleeping."

Frowning, Feliciano ran back to Ludwig. The blonde German was crumpled on the ground, eyes closed and breathing shallow. Eyes widening, he rushed over to his friend and crouched down beside him.

"Luddy, wake up!" he cried.

Ludwig's blue eyes flickered slowly. "I-Italy?" he asked weakly.

A pang of heartbreak shot through Feliciano's chest and he had to blink back tears as the face of the Holy Roman Empire replaced Ludwig's.

Misunderstanding the reason for his tears, Ludwig raised one hand and touched Feliciano's cheek.

"I am okay," he said. "I think the worst has past."

"I was so worried!" Feliciano hid his face against Ludwig's chest to hide the tears. "I thought they were destroying Berlin!"

"Nein." Ludwig shook his head. "They have been bombing me every night. They are only trying to weaken me."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Feliciano cried. "I could have helped, I could have –" He broke off as a sudden thought occurred to him. There wasn't anything he could do to help Ludwig. He was too weak to save his best friend. His eyes widened as this realization spun through his brain. He wasn't strong; he was just a pasta-loving coward who ran away at the first sign of conflict.

The tears were uncontrollable. Feliciano hiccupped as he tried to catch his breath, starting to shake from the force of his tears.

Almost immediately, Feliciano felt Ludwig's arms surround him. He leaned back against his friend's chest, trying to wipe away the tears before Ludwig could see them.

"Don't," Ludwig murmured. "It's not weak, Feliciano."

This only made him cry harder.

"Yes it is!" Feliciano wailed. "I'm a crybaby!"

"No," Ludwig insisted. "It is okay to cry, Feliciano. It does not mean that you are weak. It means you are strong enough to show your emotions."

Feliciano curled up against Ludwig, pressing his tear-stained face against the German's shirt. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. Ludwig's arm around Feliciano's waist was comforting, and he soon found himself relaxing. A yawn escaped before he could stop it.

Chuckling, Ludwig ruffled his hair. "Go back to sleep, Feliciano," he murmured. "Everything is okay now."

Feliciano bit back another yawn and closed his eyes, nestling against his friend's side. Ludwig was warm, and the little Italian soon felt himself drifting off.

"Holy Rome," he whispered as he fell asleep.

.

The silence was deafening. For the first time in his life, Francis Bonnefoy had no words to say to the gorgeous blonde man who was occupied by pacing the length of the room. In his mind, a third world war had been unthinkable. After the mistakes of the past, he had vowed to never get embroiled in another pointless war.

That hadn't worked, though.

Despite his vow, he sat once again in a meeting room in Washington, D.C., listening to the angry rants of an angry Englishman, and the obnoxious claims of a meddlesome American.

The fighting had lasted most of the evening. After countless distractions and topic changes, they had finally agreed to Arthur's offer of a preemptive assault. As the silence thickened between them, English planes were busy bombing Berlin.

"Angleterre," Francis spoke at last, "your pacing is getting on my nerves."

"Shut it, Frog," Arthur replied, but there was no bite to his words.

"Come on, Iggy," Alfred added, his voice subdue. Francis was surprised to see the exhaustion on the usually tireless nation's face. "Fighting won't do us any good."

Arthur snorted. "What a hypocritical thing to say," he sneered. But he sat down, sighing as his thick eyebrows drew together in exhaustion.

"Angleterre, when was the last time you slept?" Francis asked softly.

Arthur blinked at him for a moment before flushing and lowering his head. "That's none of your concern."

"It is when we are allies in war," argued Francis. "Answer my question."

"I haven't," Arthur said shortly. "Happy, Frog?"

"Come with me." Francis stood and took Arthur's hand, leading the protesting Englishman from the room."

"What do you think you're doing?" Arthur sputtered. "Unhand me this instant, pervert!"

Francis flinched and dropped his hand. "Fine," he said coolly. "Will you follow me, then?" He turned and walked away without waiting for Arthur.

Arthur hugged in surprise and hurried to keep up with the quickly retreating Frenchman. "What has gotten into you?" he demanded. "Where are you taking me?"

Francis stayed silent. Arthur followed him up two flights of stairs to the residential floors of the hotel they were all staying in. He longingly looked at his room at the end of the hall before turning to follow Francis into a similar room.

The Frenchman flicked the light on and ran a weary hand through his wavy blonde hair. The exhaustion was evident on his face and in the way he stood, head lowered and shoulders slumped in defeat. Arthur hesitated before placing a hand on Francis's shoulder. Dulled blue eyes flickered up to meet gentle emerald eyes.

"When was the last time you slept?" Arthur murmured.

Francis laughed softly. "I haven't," he whispered. He took a seat on the bed and motioned for Arthur to join him.

"I'm not sleeping with you," Arthur warned.

"I would not ask you to, Angleterre. Love is a beautiful thing; to force it on an unwilling person is an unforgiveable crime."

Arthur blinked. "Is that so?"

"Oui, Angleterre. If you remember, I have never pushed you after you said no."

Thinking back, Arthur realized that Francis was right. Though he had been grouped and flirted with on multiple occasions, Francis had never pushed him if Arthur asked him to stop.

"I guess you aren't a pervert after all," Arthur muttered.

A small smile was his only answer. Stifling a yawn, Arthur stretched and tried to keep his eyes open. He had gone over a week without more than a few hours of sleep, afraid of the images his dreams would show him.

"Arthur."

His eyes widened at the use of his name. It had been years since Francis had called him anything but Angleterre or England.

"Yes?"

"Do you remember the last world war?" The words were whispered.

"Of course I do," Arthur scoffed. "I can't forget it."

"Angleterre," Francis mumbled. His cheeks were a soft pink, and it took Arthur a moment to realize that Francis was actually blushing. "I brought you up here because I thought you would sleep better if you weren't alone."

Arthur's breath hitched in his throat as his memories turned to the countless nights he and Francis had shared the same bed. Nothing had ever happened between them, but both had come to rely on the companionship and the comfort that came from sleeping in another's arms.

"Oh," Arthur breathed. He hesitated for only a moment before shrugging out of his dark green jacket and slipping his shoes off. Beside him, Francis did the same. He fumbled at his belt with shaking fingers as thin, warm arms encircled his waist. A sigh escaped his lips as Francis's deft fingers undid the clasp and pulled his belt off.

"Angleterre." Francis's warm voice hovered next to Arthur's ear. "I am so tired right now." His words were punctured by a yawn.

"Mmm." Arthur's eyes were already half closed. Francis lay back and pulled Arthur against him, quickly pulling the comforter around them. Suddenly very warm, Arthur nestled against Francis's side, his head resting on the Frenchman's chest. It rose and fell as the French nation's breathing slowed, the gentle rise and fall lulling him to sleep.

"Angleterre?" Francis murmured.

"Hmm?"

A warm hand ran through Arthur's hair, making him sigh sleepily. He shifted closer to Francis.

"I've missed you," Francis whispered.

Almost asleep, Arthur could only nod drowsily. The last thing he felt was soft lips on the top of his head and a whispered promise that he couldn't quite hear.

.

Their hands found each other even in the dark. Their fingers threaded together, pulling each other closer. It was never quite close enough for Raivis; Eduard was the only one who could make him feel safe, but even that was fleeting. Stolen moments in the dark were all he had to live on.

"He'll be home soon," Eduard murmured. "We should go."

Raivis clutched tighter to Eduard's hand. "I don't want to go back! He'll hurt me again!"

"No," Eduard promised. "I won't let him touch you."

It was an empty promise. They both knew it, but Raivis let Eduard's words comfort him. He sighed softly as long, gentle fingers worked through his hair. There was silence for a few moments, until Raivis spoke.

"Are we going to die?"

Eduard hesitated, and Raivis's heart sped up. But then there were soft lips on his cheek and another whispered promise.

"No, Raivis."

"But there's another war!" Raivis insisted. "We're small and weak! Mr. Russia could kill us at any time!"

Eduard's arm tightened around Raivis's waist. "He won't kill us. Calm down, Raivis."

"I c-can't." He had started to shake again. He hid his face against Eduard's side and tried to stop.

"Shh, Raivis." Eduard's lips pressed against his forehead. "You can't let Ivan see you like this. It'll only make it worse."

"I-I know." He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes, inhaling the fain, but crisp, smell of Eduard's cologne. As the tremors wracked his body, he tilted his head up and pressed his lips to Eduard's. Slowly, slowly, the tremors subsided.

"Better?"

Raivis nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Eduard sighed softly. "I think I hear his car. It's time to go."

Another nod and Raivis stood up. He felt his way across his pitch-black room to pull the curtains back. Sure enough, Ivan's black car sat in the center of the driveway.

"It's time to go," Raivis agreed reluctantly. Eduard, blinking in the sudden light, gave him a quick kiss and hurried out of the room. Raivis followed at a slower pace, trying to prepare himself to welcome Ivan back to the house. Almost absently, his fingers traced the edge of a bruise that was hidden by the too-large t-shirt he had borrowed from Eduard. Beneath the faded blue material, his stomach and back were lined with fading bruises. He was frighteningly thin, but could rarely bring himself to eat anything.

"Raivis?" Toris's thin, frightened voice called up to him.

He started to shake again. "I-I'm c-coming, Toris," Raivis called. He scurried down the stairs and took his spot between Toris and Eduard. One hand twitched toward Eduard's hand, and a sudden longing to be held threatened to overpower him, but he forced himself to stand straight and clench his fists. If Ivan ever found out about his relationship with Eduard . . . well, Raivis didn't want to think about what would happen.

The door creaked open. A frightened squeak escaped Raivis's lips as Ivan entered, smiling cheerfully.

"Toris, Raivis, Eduard!" Ivan exclaimed. "You missed me, da?"

The three of them nodded quickly. Ivan giggled.

"I brought some friends to stay with us! I'm sure you all know each other."

Behind him, Katyusha, Natalia, Feliks, and Yao walked in.

"They have all agreed to fight with the Soviets!"

Silence greeted this statement. Raivis felt Toris flinch when Ivan's eyes lingered on Feliks.

He was more concerned with Yao's presence, however. From what he had overheard during Ivan's drunken ramblings, the Russian and the Chinese man had never been on the best of terms with each other. Ivan's long history of stalking Yao had done much to prevent a friendship between the two. Yao's arrival at the Braginski household meant something; Raivis just wasn't sure what it was yet.

.

"Fin, what are you doing?"

Denmark's voice filled the room, making Berwald wince at his throbbing headache. A suitcase was clutched in his hand, filled until it was in danger of bursting. Beside him, Tino had been folding clothes and stacking them neatly in a large suitcase.

"Go away, Den," Tino muttered. His voice was soft, but firm. "I don't want to be here anymore."

"So you're joining the Axis Powers? Have you lost your mind?"

"No, I haven't, Den," Tino replied calmly as he closed the lid of his suitcase. "Berwald, are you ready to leave?"

"'m ready wh'n you are," Berwald said. "Car's out fr'nt."

"You're not leaving!" Denmark yelled. "We're supposed to be a family, Finland! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"It didn't mean anything when my country was invaded by the Russians."

Berwald blinked at the sudden ice in Tino's voice. The usually sweet and happy nation was staring at Denmark with tears pouring down his cheeks. "Our family hasn't meant anything to you in the past; why should it now?"

At a loss for words, Denmark just stared open-mouthed at Tino.

"He's an idiot, Tino," Norway spoke up. "We already knew that. Don't let him stop you from being with your family, though. We all want you to stay."

"I don't want to stay!" Tino cried. "Don't you see? I'm not happy here! Berwald and I share everything with you three, but we don't even know your human names. How is that fair to us?" He rounded on Denmark. "And you spend so much time chasing after Norway that you can't even see what you're doing to the rest of us."

"Tino," Demark interrupted, sounding desperate. "Are you really going to leave us? We're a family."

"Families fight," Iceland agreed, "but that doesn't mean they stop being a family. You should stay, Tino. We need you here, with us."

Tino wiped angrily at the tears on his cheeks. "I still want to leave. Don't try to stop me."

"Come on, Berwald, help us out," Denmark pleaded.

"I go wherever m' w'fe goes," Berwald replied.

Cursing, Denmark kicked over a chair. "We don't need you!" he shouted. "The both of you can just go to hell. I don't care anymore!" He stormed from the room, shouting obscenities.

"Don't listen to him," Iceland pleaded. "Come on, Tino. Stay with us."

Tino turned away from Iceland and Norway. Berwald offered his hand and Tino clutched it, squeezing it tightly.

"Ye've made yer choice," Berwald said. "But ye can still change it, if ye w'nt t' stay."

"No," Tino whispered. He pressed his face against Berwald's chest and hugged him. Berwald felt a few tears soak through his thin shirt. Wrapping an arm around Tino's waist, he led his wife from the room.

No one followed them to out to the car. Denmark's angry face appeared in an upstairs window, but he was gone before Tino could see him.

"Why, Berwald?" Tino whispered. "Why are you going with me?"

"'Cause yer m' w'fe," Berwald said. He helped Tino into the car, put their bags in the trunk, and got in the driver's seat.

"Is it just because I'm your wife?" Tino was nearly hysterical.

"No," Berwald replied gruffly. He reached out and took one of Tino's hands in his and held it tightly. "It's 'cause I love you."

Tino's tears fell steadily until they reached the airport.

.

"Feliks, are you insane?"

Toris clenched his fists and stared at the gorgeous blonde boy in front of him. As usual, Feliks was covered in pink. A pink bow pinned back his shoulder-length hair. A light pink shirt was hidden by a hot pink jacket. Pink sneakers peeked out from under the boot cut legs of his ripped jeans. As usual, Toris thought it was the cutest thing he had ever seen. Just then, though, Toris was more annoyed by his friend's startling appearance than he was happy to see him.

"I, like, came to see you!" Feliks exclaimed.

"Why, though?"

Feliks looked down. "I'm not, like, going to leave you again. Not with Ivan. He's, like, going to kill you."

Toris frowned. "Feliks, I can take care of myself."

"No, you can't!" Feliks took Toris's hand and squeezed it. "You're in pain right now, aren't you?"

Toris flinched and pulled his hand back. "N-No," he stammered.

Eyes narrowed, Feliks lifted the bottom of Toris's shirt. His eyes widened as he took in the hand print-shaped bruises and the tape holding together Toris's cracked ribs.

"Liet," he breathed. "You can't keep letting him, like, hurt you! Why don't you leave? You could, like, go work for Alfred again."

"What would you do, Feliks?"

"I'll go wherever you go," Feliks promised without hesitation. "I only came here for you."

Toris's eyes softened as Feliks wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him close. Toris rested his head against Feliks's shoulder and closed his eyes, sighing happily.

"Liet," Feliks murmured, "I think I'm in love with you."

A small smile crossed Toris's face as his cheeks flushed and his chest warmed. "Yeah, Feliks," he whispered. "I think I'm in love with you, too."

"We can't let Ivan know."

Toris laughed, though it wasn't funny. "I know, Feliks. He'll kill us both if he finds out that we're together."

"It's totally worth it." Feliks pressed his lips to Toris's forehead. "It is, like, totally worth it. Have I ever told you how cute you are, Liet?"

Toris giggled. "Have I ever told you how adorable you are?"

Feliks's cheeks flushed pink. "God, Liet," he said as he pulled Toris closer, "you're, like, the only person who's ever told me that."

Laughing, Toris said, "Maybe I should tell you more often."

His cheeks as pink as his bow, Feliks hid his face against Toris's shoulder.

"We should go," Toris muttered. "Ivan will be coming down for dinner soon, so I should get started with the cooking. Do you want to help?"

"I don't want to be, like, his servant." Toris shuddered. "But, I'll help you cook. It'll be more fun if I'm there."

Toris laughed. "Let's go!"

.

"Lili."

She turned her head at the sound of her name. Eliza stood just inside the door. Though the meeting was still over an hour away, Lili had gotten there early to help her brother set up the meeting room.

"Eliza!" she exclaimed. "You're really early; even Big Brother isn't here yet."

"That's okay," Eliza said quickly. "I came to see you."

Emerald eyes widened. "You came to see me? Why?"

Eliza spoke quickly. "I have a bad feeling about this meeting. Tensions are running high across the globe and everyone is on edge right now. This meeting could be the meeting that marks the beginning of a third world war, and I wanted to be sure you were safe."

The strange fluttering in her chest made it hard for Lili to think. "But why?" she made herself ask. "We've hardly spoken. You barely know me."

Eliza was silent for a long moment. "Because," she said finally, "you're still young. I would hate for you to get caught up in another European war."

Lili let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding. "Of course," she said. Her voice sound hollow, even to her. "I thank you for your concern, Elizaveta, but I can take care of myself." She turned her head to hide the blush that colored her cheeks.

"Oh, Lili," Eliza sighed. "I didn't mean it like that. I just want to protect you."

"Why, though?" Looking up at Eliza, the fluttering in her chest expanded to her stomach. Lili bit her lip. "Why do you want to protect me?"

Eliza took a few steps forward until she was close enough for Lili to reach out and touch. The tips for her fingers tingled as the thought crossed her mind.

"Because I like you," Eliza said softly.

Lili knew what men and women did together, but it had never crossed her mind that two women could be together. Puzzled, she blinked up at Eliza.

"Can . . ." she trailed off, unsure of how to phrase her question.

"Two girls can be together," Eliza replied firmly. "There's nothing wrong with it. It's just like two guys, or a girl and a guy."

Lili nodded slowly. "Okay," she whispered. "I . . . I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. You don't have to be with me, or even like girls to begin with. I just thought you should know." She half turned, her body angling toward the door.

Lili didn't think. She reached out and grabbed Eliza's hand, pulling her back. Eliza gasped softly as Lili flung her arms around the taller nation's waist.

"Lili," Eliza whispered. "If you . . . if you want, you can come stay with me. I would protect you."

"What about Vash?"

"He can't know." Eliza's words were sad but firm. "If he finds out, he'll probably try to kill me."

"He's over protective," Lili muttered. "I want to come and live with you." She hid her blushing face against Eliza's side, sighing happily when she felt warm arms surround her. She breathed in Eliza's floral perfume and felt herself start to relax.

"Lili, I don't know what's going to happen during the meeting. If there's another war, I think you should stay with Vash."

"No!" Lili cried. She tightened her arms around Eliza's waist, surprised at the sudden fear she felt at the thought of being separated.

"Shh," Eliza murmured. Thin fingers began to wind through Lili's hair, and she felt herself relaxing again.

"I don't want you to go," she whispered.

"I don't want to go," Eliza sighed. "But if war breaks out, you need to stay neutral like your brother. Otherwise, you're going to be a target for everyone. And if they think you're allied with me, then whoever I'm against will try to use you to get to me."

It made sense, but Lili wasn't convinced. "Why do you have to join the war? Why can't you just stay neutral like me?"

Eliza smiled sadly. "I'm loyal to my friends. Roddy and Gil will need my help."

"Oh." Lili looked down.

"You can live with me if there's no war," Eliza promised. "I'll even talk to Vash with you. I swear, though, if he tries to shoot me again I'll get Gil drunk and sic him on your brother."

Lili giggled. "He might enjoy that, actually."

Eliza coughed lightly and tried to hide a smirk. "Dear, I think he would much prefer it if I set a drunken Roderich on him."

Giggling, Lili tried to hide her smile at Eliza's affectionate tone. She twined her fingers with Eliza's, clutched her hand close, and tilted her head to gaze up at the tall Hungarian adoringly.

"You're sad," Lili said softly, noticing the tightness of Eliza's smile.

"Can you tell?" Eliza sighed. "I just . . . I'm afraid, Lili."

Lili's eyebrows drew together and she pulled Eliza over to a door on the far wall. Twisting the handle, she brought Eliza into the side lounge.

"Lili?"

"Shh," Lili said. Ignoring Eliza's confused expression, she walked over to one of the couches and pulled Eliza down beside her.

"Lili," Eliza repeated, eyes softening. "You're so young, but you've seen as much as any of us." She pressed her face against Lili's shoulder.

"I may be small, but I'm not weak," Lili argued. She wrapped her arms around Eliza's waist and tugged her closer, hugging her tightly. The Hungarian girl trembled at first, but soon relaxed into Lili's arms.

"Why are you afraid?" Lili asked after a few moments of comfortable silence.

"War," Eliza murmured. "I've lived too long and fought too many wars. The thought of another terrifies me."

"Maybe there won't be a war," Lili offered. "Maybe things will work out."

Eliza snorted. "And maybe pigs will fly. No, there's too much tension between the nations. Even if it's a small one, we are all going to be at war again. Just watch, Lili. The world will be divided into the Axis and the Allies once again."

"Do you think Ivan will side with the Allies again?" Lili asked, a touch of fear creeping into her voice.

"Yes." Eliza didn't hesitate. "The Cold War is over, and he and Alfred have no reason to hate each other anymore. Ivan is probably more concerned with the possible threat of invasion from Ludwig. Then again, he'll have Natalia and Katyusha as a nice buffer between him and the rest of Europe."

Lili clutched Eliza's hand tighter. "You're joining the Axis."

It wasn't a question, but Eliza nodded anyways. "Of course I will. Roderich and Gilbert are going to need all the help they can get. And I can't abandon Ludwig after all he's done for me over the years."

"I hope there's no war," Lili mumbled.

"So do I, Lili. So do I."

.

As he stared, eyes wandering across the room and pausing on each nation's face, Yao was surprised by how old he felt. The younger nations had been at it again, exchanging a constant stream of insults and threats across the circular table. It was almost exactly like the last big international conference, where Ludwig had stormed out in an angry huff. Only, the next day, he had invaded Poland with his troops and started World War Two.

_Please don't let there be another war_, Yao prayed silently. To whom he prayed he was unsure; he had seen many religions come and go, so many gods and goddesses destroyed, that he wasn't sure what to believe in anymore.

A third world war had been unthinkable a week ago. After seven constant days of meetings and back room deals, though, the unthinkable suddenly seemed very possible. Yao expected Ludwig to explode at any minute. The unfortunate German nation had been bombarded with a constant assault of accusations and threats, and Yao could almost see the stress radiating from Ludwig's body. Though Alfred had done a fair share of the threatening, the rest of the former Allied Powers were just as guilty. Excluding Yao, the others had done their jobs to make Ludwig as miserable as possible. That, coupled with the political tension across Europe and Asia, would undoubtedly send the world spiraling back to the age of war.

Yao shuffled the papers in front of him. The agenda lay on top, long forgotten in the wake of Alfred's pathetic attempts at heroism. Looking up, he tried to focus on the worlds Alfred was yelling.

His head throbbed. Yao could feel a migraine coming on, but whether that was from Alfred's obnoxious yelling or from is nation's sudden economic downturn, Yao couldn't tell. He rubbed his eyes with too-hot hands and wondered vaguely if he was coming down with a fever. As he stared at the clock, longingly calculating the time left until their lunch break, Alfred's words intruded on his thoughts.

"World War Two was your fault!" Alfred yelled at Ludwig. His fists were clenched at his sides and not even Arthur's restraining hand could keep him from spitting the next words at the German. "You're the one that can't control your pathetic leader. It's because of him that we had to go to war." Alfred threw back his head and laughed. "I'm not surprised, _Germany_. You've always been weak. I should have expected you to get pushed around by your leader."

"I will not stand to have my leader insulted to my face," Ludwig replied, blue eyes flashing dangerously. "For all his faults, Hitler was a great leader."

"Of course you'd think that," Alfred retorted. "He probably brainwashed you into believing that." He did a mocking _Heil Hitler_ salute before slumping back in his chair. "Hell, he probably f –"

"Alfred!" Arthur exclaimed. "Have some decency. How would you feel if Ludwig spoke about George Washington in that crude manner?"

"George Washington was a great man and a brilliant leader," Alfred replied coolly. "He helped end wars, not start them. And he didn't invade defenseless nations."

"Hey!" Feliks exclaimed. "I was, like, not totally defenseless."

"Then how did you lose? Never mind," Alfred waved his hand at Feliks, "it doesn't matter to me. What matters is that this stupid, drunken German pays me back all the money he owes me."

"I have tried to explain," said Ludwig through clenched teeth, "that Germany is facing a recession at the moment. We are unable to make payments until our economy adjusts and inflation goes down."

"Just give me my damn money!" Alfred yelled as he slammed his hand down on the table.

"We don't have it right now!" Ludwig shouted.

"That's it," Alfred hissed. "I'm sick of waiting. I'm sick of being forced to play nice while my people are screaming for revenge for the lives you took from us." He drew himself up to his full height. "I, Alfred F. Jones, as the nation representative of the United States of America, do hereby declare war on Germany."

Silence met his statement. Yao's eyes widened as he realized the full implications of Alfred's declaration of war.

World War Three had begun.

For almost a full minute, silence ruled the room. Hardly daring to breathe, Yao's eyes darted between Alfred's arrogant face and Ludwig's shocked expression.

"I, Ludwig Beilschmidt," Ludwig said softly, "as the nation representative of Germany, do hereby declare war on the United States of America."

It took three rounds from Vash's gun to silence the flood of outbursts that followed Ludwig's words.

"Silence!" yelled the angry Swiss man. "There's one thing we need to do."

"And what would that be?" Arthur demanded.

"Alliances," Vash replied coolly. "Ludwig, over here. Alfred, against the far wall."

Pausing to glare at each other, Alfred and Ludwig moved to opposite sides of the room. Still calm, Vash turned to the rest of the nations.

"As you all know, I am neutral," he stated. "I expect all of you to respect that. I also claim Liechtenstein as neutral." His eyes narrowed. "If any of you so much as lay a finger on her or her people, I will shoot you directly in your pathetic excuse of a brain." He fixed each nation with a fierce glare before continuing. "Now, I will call your name and you will make your choice."

He started with the former Axis Powers. In quick succession, Feliciano, Lovino, Kiku, Roderich, and Elizaveta declared their support for Ludwig.

When Kiku's name was called, Yao stiffened. Since World War Two, he and his younger brother had avoided each other. Yao longed to fix the distance between them, but Kiku had always refused to give him the chance.

Thinking of Kiku always brought back the nightmares. Yao shuddered as images of Nanking filled his mind. His people had been massacred by Japanese soldiers. Yao had lived through the terror, spending days immobile while he screamed along with his people. Their fear had overrun his mind, leaving him insensible for weeks after. It was until soft, warm hands had lifted him out of the puddle of blood, vomit, and urine that he had come back to himself.

_Soft, warm hands . . ._

Yao's eyes darted up to find Ivan's tall figure. Vash had already called his name, so the Russian stood against the far wall, speaking in a hushed whisper to his two sisters. Katyusha's eyes were wide and brimming with tears; Natalia's eyes were narrowed and her fingers grazed the tip of the knife handle Yao knew she had hidden in her dress.

As if sensing his gaze, Ivan's purple eyes met Yao's. A flash of heat sparked in his chest, and Yao looked away to hide his reddening cheeks.

"Yao Wang."

Yao glanced back up. Vash stood before him, glaring at him.

"It's your turn to pick, Yao."

"Oh." Yao stood up. His feet automatically turned towards the Allies, but then he paused. Half-hidden by Ludwig, Kiku stood behind the rest of the former Axis Powers. His eyes were trained on the floor and his stance was one Yao recognized all too well: defeat. Yao hesitated. Joining the Axis Powers would mean he had a chance at reconciliation with his younger brother. Joining the Allies would destroy any hope of that happening.

It wasn't just about him, though. Yao had his nation to think about. His people needed to be on the winning side of the war. With Ludwig's history of losing wars, Yao couldn't imagine any other side to be on than the Allies. He took a step towards them.

As if sensing the movement, Kiku's head shot up. The normally stoic Japanese nation fixed Yao with a penetrating stare. In his chest, Yao's heart thudded wildly.

"Yao."

His head turned at the sound of his name. Ivan had moved closer, abandoning his place by his sisters to speak to Yao.

"It is okay. You can pick your family. We will not be mad."

Yao didn't think anyone else could hear Ivan's whispered words. The Russian's soft, accented voice had sent a flash of heat through his chest.

"No," Yao whispered. "I don't have a family anymore." Trembling, turning away from Kiku, he walked over and rejoined the Allied Powers.

"Good to have you back," Arthur mumbled politely. Yao wasn't fooled. His policies and government had always been different than the rest of the Allies and, though they were allies, they had never been friends. Yao had never completely forgiven them for trying to control his land, and they had never forgiven him for turning communist.

"You'll come stay in D.C. with us, right?" Alfred asked.

Yao hesitated. "Who else is staying there?"

"Everyone, of course."

"Alfred," Ivan spoke up, "I would prefer to run my own household. My sisters and the Baltics will be staying with me at my house in Russia."

"Whatever," Alfred muttered. "So, Yao, when should we expect you?"

"Don't assume, Alfred." Yao rolled his eyes. "Maybe I would rather stay with Ivan, aru."

"Da!" Ivan said. "Little Yao is always welcome at my house."

"Fine," Alfred hissed. "Have fun with your stupid communist friend. I'm sure you'll have so much fun."

Yao's cheeks flushed. He wondered if his feelings were obvious. Though he was often idiotic, Alfred was startlingly perceptive about the feelings of others. Yao had tried to hide it, but it was difficult when he saw Ivan so frequently. Since the end of World War Two, he had been in love with Ivan.

He hadn't realized it at first. It wasn't until the nightmares started that Yao realized the arms he imagined holding and comforting him belonged to Ivan. After that, he had refused to spend more than five minutes alone with the intimidating Russian, for fear of his secret being discovered.

"It will be better than staying with you, aru," Yao shot back. "The last time I did that I got food poisoning from one of your stupid fast food places."

Arthur snorted. "The lad does have a point there. Come, Alfred, the meeting is almost over. Let us find your brother and be off."

Yao glanced back at Vash. The Swiss stood surrounded by the nations that had declared themselves neutral. He was surprised to see the rest of his brothers and sisters had decided to stay out of the war.

"It looks like it's just me and Kiku," he murmured to himself.

"Are you ready, Little Yao?"

One of Ivan's large hands rested on Yao's shoulders. He felt his cheeks burned and he turned his head away from the Russian.

"Yes," he said, struggling to keep his voice even, "but don't call me little, aru. I'm older than you, remember?"

Ivan only smiled. "We will have lots of fun at my house. Let's go, da?"

As Yao was steered toward the door, his last thought was, _what have I gotten myself into?_


	2. Chapter 2

The pounding in his skull woke Gilbert long before the sun rose. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes and sat up.

"You're awake."

The voice sent another throb of pain through his skull. Gilbert cracked open one bloodshot eye and peered at the Austrian sitting beside him.

"What are you doing in my bed, Specs?" he managed to croak.

Roderich snorted. "This is my bed, Gilbert. You were far too intoxicated to make it to your own last night."

Gilbert pressed a hand to his forehead and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart. He could feel how close the Austrian was and had to focus to keep his hands where they were. He cleared his throat, winced, and tried to make a joke.

"Did you invade my vital regions while I was out?" He shot Roderich a hung-over approximation of his usual cocky grin.

Roderich flushed. "As if. I'm not interested in you. You're not my type."

"Oh, yeah? Is Eliza your type?"

"That is none of your concern." Roderich's cheeks darkened and he looked away.

Gilbert grinned. "How about some breakfast? If I remember correctly, you used to love to cook for me."

"That was before I figured out just how much of an obnoxious buffoon you are," Roderich replied coolly. "I supposed I could fix something, though, since you are hung-over."

The pain, which had been hovering in the back of Gilbert's mind, bloomed behind his eyes. Throbbing, it made him flinch and press his face into a pillow.

"Gott, this sucks," he mumbled.

"How much did you drink last night?" Roderich asked softly.

"A lot. I didn't want to feel the bombing."

Thin fingers threaded through his silver hair. Gilbert sighed at the soothing feeling as his eyes fluttered closed.

"I'm sorry," Roderich murmured. "Go back to sleep, okay?"

"Only if you stay."

Roderich hesitated and Gilbert wondered if he had said something wrong. Then the Austrian sighed and settled down beside him.

"Of course I'll stay," he said. "You're hung-over; it's the least I can do, although it was your choice to drink in the first place. Really, Gilbert, you should be more responsible. If something were to happen to Berlin and you couldn't feel it . . ." he trailed off, but even hung-over Gilbert knew what was being left unsaid. It wasn't something he wanted to talk about, even with Roderich.

"I'm tired," he mumbled. Ignoring Roderich's faint protests, he rolled over until his head rested on the Austrian's shoulder. Sighing, Roderich smiled faintly. The obnoxious Prussian was rather adorable when he was silent. He threaded his fingers through the silver locks and ignored the color in his cheeks when Gilbert sighed happily. Closing his eyes, he drifted off to sleep with the sound of Gilbert's quiet breathing as his lullaby.

.

It was dark when Yao awoke. He fumbled around for the lamp, flicked it on, and blinked away the spots in his vision.

The room was unfamiliar. Yao rubbed his eyes and glanced around at the opulent room. White seemed to be the prominent color - white carpet, white blankets, white curtains, white decorations. The walls were a blue so deep it was almost black and the furniture was all expensive-looking dark wood.

_Ivan's house_, Yao realized with a start. The events of the meeting came back to him slowly. Blush colored his cheeks when he recalled Alfred's penetrating stare. Was it really that obvious that he was in love with Ivan?

Shaking his head, Yao stood up and started searching for clothes. He pulled on his usual dark green shirt and pants, smoothed back his hair into its usual ponytail, and left the room.

One of the Baltics sat outside the door. Yao hadn't seen them in years; Ivan kept them hidden away at his house and as far as Yao knew, they hadn't left Russia in years.

"M-Mr. Russia i-is waiting for you," the small nation stammered. "H-he's i-in the kitchen. F-Follow me, p-please."

Yao nodded and followed the Baltic nation. He wondered at the boy's odd nervousness and the way he kept looking over his shoulder, as if he was hiding from someone.

"Yao!" Ivan greeted him cheerfully. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," Yao replied. "The room is beautiful, aru." His heart beat faster as he tried to keep the flush out of his cheeks.

"I am glad you decided to live with me."

"Thank you for allowing me to stay, aru," Yao replied breathlessly. He looked down, fingers twisted in the hem of his short.

"Why did you choose my house?" Ivan asked. The genuine curiosity in his voice sent a pang of longing through Yao's chest.

"I'm not sure," Yao replied. He hesitated. "I didn't want to live with the Allies again, and staying at my house didn't seem like an option. I would have been the first target, aru."

Ivan nodded. "Da, this is true." He was silent for a moment, his purple eyes unwavering in their scrutiny. "Why not join your family, though?"

Yao struggled to think. His fingers twitched at his sides and he clenched them into fists to keep them from reaching out to touch the smooth skin of Ivan's cheek. Dimly, he realized that Ivan was waiting for an answer.

"Nanking," he blurted. "I . . . I want to forgive Kiku, but I can't." His voice broke on his brother's name.

Ivan's eyes softened. "It was during Nanking, da? That day I found you?"

Yao nodded. "Y-Yes, aru. It was right after the first wave of soldiers hit the city."

Ivan motioned towards the chair next to him and Yao shakily sat down. His breath caught in his throat as gentle fingers brushed a few loose strands of hair from his face. Trembling, he leaned into Ivan's hand before he realized what he was doing.

"Was it bad?" Ivan murmured.

Yao shivered, both at Ivan's soft voice and the memory of the invasion. "Yes," he whispered. "It was one of the most painful moments of my long life."

"I am sorry, Yao. It was hard for me to see you like that."

Ivan's lips were tauntingly close. Yao had to force himself to focus on Ivan's words.

"You were?" he asked. The breathlessness in his voice brought a small smile to Ivan's face.

"Da, I was very concerned about you."

"Why?" Yao forced himself to ask. "We were never that close, even as nations."

"Because," Ivan smiled, "I like you."

Yao froze. The rapid thud of his heartbeat filled the sudden silence.

"You what?" he managed to say, his voice just above a whisper.

"I like you, Yao."

And Ivan's lips were suddenly pressed again Yao's. The kiss was gentle, sweet, and over far too soon. As Ivan pulled away, Yao's mind was filled with a haze of longing and desire.

"Ivan," he whispered. His hands reached for the Russian, but Ivan pulled back, a knowing smile on his lips.

"I have some business to attend to," Ivan replied. "I will see you soon, my Little Yao!"

As Ivan left the room, Yao bit back a cry of frustration. He could still taste the vodka on his lips and feel the gentle pressure of the kiss. A red hot burst of longing tore through his chest and he clenched his fists, nails biting into the soft skin of his hands as he tried to distract himself.

_Ivan_, he thought. Half standing, he hesitated, moving unsteadily towards the door and then back to his chair.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

.

Gentle fingers braiding through his hair woke him. He blinked his eyes open and tried to sit up, but gentle hands and gentle fingers pushed him back down.

"Nor," he croaked, wincing at the soreness in his throat.

"Shh," Norway whispered. "Go back to sleep."

"What happened?" The words grated his throat and he flinched.

Gentle lips pressed against his forehead. "You were mad, Den."

"How big of a mess did I make?" Another wince.

"Shh," Norway said again. "Rest your throat. Do you remember anything from last night?"

Denmark shook his head. The details were fuzzy in his still sleepy brain. Sighing softly, he pressed his cheek against the smooth fabric of Norway's shirt and curled up against the thin nation.

"Finland and Sweden left," Norway murmured. "We tried to stop them, but Tino was stubborn and Berwald wouldn't help us. They're gone now." Gentle arms wrapped around his waist. "After they left, you got angry. I don't know what happened, but you started screaming in Danish and broke a few things."

Denmark shuddered and closed his eyes. After a few painful attempts to clear his throat, he mouthed the word 'water.'

"Water?" Norway asked. Denmark nodded. "I'll go get you some."

Norway shifted and Denmark unthinkingly grabbed his hand. The ghost of a smile passed over Norway's face.

"I'll be right back, Den. I promise." A hand ruffled Denmark's hair. "Just close your eyes and go back to sleep."

Denmark nodded and let go of Norway's hand. As the quiet nation's footsteps faded away, he let himself relax and fall back asleep.

"Denmark."

His eyes fluttered weakly, but didn't open. Norway shook him gently.

"Denmark, wake up."

Denmark's eyes flickered open again. This time they stayed open.

"I brought you some water," Norway whispered. "Here, I'll help you sit up." He slid his arm around the Dane's waist and lifted him into a sitting position. Gently, he pressed the cup to Denmark's lips and titled it. He flinched at the noisy swallows and watched Denmark with sad eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly.

"Norway," Denmark muttered. He winced a little at the roughness in his voice. "You have to stop treating me like I'm going to break. I'm stronger than you give me credit for."

_Gently, gently._

"I know," Norway said. "It's been a rough week for all of us, though. I just want to make sure you're okay."

Denmark laughed weakly. "It's not that easy to break me."

_I said gently!_

"That's a lie." Norway touched Denmark's cheek. "I can see it in your eyes." _Your eyes . . . they're so beautiful!_ "You can pretend all you want, Den, but you can't lie to me." _I'll never lie to you._ "You're tired. You're scared. You feel alone." Denmark flinched with each word, but Norway pushed on. "You think you're strong enough, but sometimes you need to let other people in. Sometimes you just need a shoulder to cry on."

"I don't cry," Denmark muttered as a tear slipped down his cheek."

Norway gently brushed it away. "Den. Let me be your shoulder to cry on."

"People always leave, though."

The agony in Denmark's voice brought tears to Norway's eyes. He wrapped his arms around the Dane's shoulders and pulled him close.

"I'm not leaving you, Denmark," Norway murmured. "I love you, Denmark."

A muffled sob escaped, and tears began to fall freely. Norway hugged him tighter.

"I love you," Denmark sobbed. "Please. Please don't leave me."

_Who would love you? You've nothing special. You're just another nation, another waste of space._

"I won't," Norway promised.

.

Alfred paused in front of a small, dimly lit entryway. The club was not one of his regular haunts, and the rock music blaring over the dance floor was in an unfamiliar language that might have been German. The patrons barely spared him a glance as he stepped inside, though a few paused to stare at his obviously foreign clothes.

He made his way around the edge of the dance floor, skirting the bar, until he found the door to the back rooms. He slipped inside, conscious of the curious stares, and closed the door behind him. The hallway was cramped and dimly lit. Doors lined the walls, leading to other rooms and hallways.

_The third door on the right_, Alfred thought. He counted, knocked twice, and poked his head in.

"Alfred. I'm glad you could come."

"Kiku." Alfred breathed a sigh of relief and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Then he crossed to the bed and sat down beside his friend. "Was this really the best place for us to meet? I stuck out like a sore thumb back there."

"There was no time to look for another place," Kiku replied softly. "I'm leaving Switzerland first thing in the morning. I have to go back to Japan and pack."

"Pack?" Alfred asked. "For what?"

"I'll be living at Germany's house for a while."

"Oh. I should have guessed." Alfred was silent for a moment. "Does that mean we won't be able to see each other anymore?"

Kiku hesitated. "I am not sure," he said finally. "Perhaps it would be better if we ended this now instead of drawing it out. After all, we are enemies once more."

"No!" Alfred exclaimed. His cheeks reddened. "Kiku, you could never be my enemy."

"America, our nations are at war. That will put too much strain on this relationship, not to mention the fact that we would have to hide it from everyone. I don't believe any of them would understand, and I don't want to seem as if I'm betraying my allies."

"They're not just your allies; they're your friends." Alfred shook his head and smiled softly. "You're always so formal, Kiku. Are you ever going to lighten up?"

A soft blush colored Kiku's cheeks, making Alfred's smile widen.

"Don't worry about the war right now," Alfred said. "Just enjoy the moment. I'm afraid we won't be able to have another moment of peace for a few months, at least. This might be one of our last nights together."

Kiku's eyes saddened. "I wish there was no war."

"Kiku." Alfred held his arms out. "Just for tonight, there is no war. There is just me and you."

A short nod, and then a gasp of relief as Kiku leaned into his arms. Alfred's stomach tightened and he pulled the Japanese man closer, body relaxing as the world around him faded away. Small, delicate hands clutched at his clothes with a surprising strength.

"Closer," Kiku whispered. "I need you closer."

Alfred's heart fluttered wildly. "Anything for you, Kiku," he whispered breathlessly. A shiver ran down Kiku's spine.

"Anything?" he murmured, tilting his head up to gaze at Alfred from under long lashes.

A red-hot surge of desire spread through Alfred's chest to the tips of his fingers and toes. He pressed his lips to Kiku's. Their kiss was slow, but passionate, though it was tinged with urgency. Their bodies melted together, clothing falling to the floor as their self control disappeared just as quickly.

"Kiku," Alfred moaned. "I need you!"

"Hai," Kiku whispered. "I need you, too."

Bodies melded together, until Alfred couldn't tell where his body ended and Kiku's began. He gasped and moaned, reveling in the feeling of Kiku's body against his, the feeling of his world being right.

When it was over he lay in Kiku's arms, panting and gazing into soft brown eyes.

"I love you," Alfred whispered.

Kiki pressed his lips to Alfred's forehead. "I love you, too."

Alfred closed his eyes and let himself relax into Kiku's arms. The first rays of sunrise were beginning to peak through the window curtains.

"I don't want to leave," Alfred murmured. "I don't want you to go."

"I have to," Kiku replied. His voice was said, and Alfred could already hear some of its old loneliness start to creep back in. "I have a duty to my allies. To my friends. They need me."

"I need you, too, though."

"Alfred," Kiku sighed. "I should not have come. This will only make it harder for me to leave you."

"Then don't leave!" Alfred exclaimed. He sat up and gently touched Kiku's cheek, eyes softening. "Change your alliance. Come live with me. We can be together. We can be happy."

Kiku flinched. "I can't leave my friends, Alfred. You know that. I would never ask you to leave your brother for me."

"I'm sorry. I just don't want to lose you."

"You're not going to lose me," Kiku promised. He sat up and carefully hugged Alfred. "I have to leave now. I'll see you when I can."

Alfred sat back and watched Kiku dress. A tear slipped down his cheek. "When?" he whispered.

"I don't know," Kiku said.

"Soon?" Alfred asked desperately.

Kiku hesitated. "Things will be very busy with the war."

"Soon, Kiku. Promise me. I need to see you."

Sighing, Kiku replied, "Hai, Alfred. Soon. I promise."

Alfred relaxed slightly. He stood up and kissed Kiku as sweetly as he could. "Come back to me soon, my love."

He could see it in Kiku's eyes that the Japanese man did not want to leave. Pain clawed at Alfred's heart at the thought of being separated from Kiku, but there was nothing that they could do. Both of their hands were tied; their alliances were too strong to abandon.

"It's okay," Alfred said. He wrapped his arms around Kiku's waist and kissed him one last time. "I understand that you have to leave. We'll be okay. The war can't go on forever, Kiku. We'll be together again."

"I don't like this." Kiku rested his head on Alfred's shoulder. "I don't want to go."

"We're both needed. It's only for a little while."

"It could be years, though. World War II went on too long, longer than any of us thought it would."

"This war won't be the same, Kiku. I promise."

"How do you know?" Kiku cried, his calm façade slipping. "How can you be so sure?"

Alfred hugged him tighter. "I have faith, Kiku. And I love you."

"I love you, too," Kiku mumbled. He took a deep breath. "I should go now. My plane will be leaving soon and I don't want to miss it."

"Okay," Alfred sighed. He kissed Kiku's cheek. "I love you. Don't forget that, Kiku. No matter what, I'll always love you."

"You sound like you're saying goodbye." Kiku paused, one hand on the doorknob.

Alfred laughed humorlessly. "We're nations, Kiku. We can't die." He reached for Kiku again, but then paused and let his hand drop. When he spoke, his voice was strangely quiet. "I can't die. Not when I have you waiting for me."

Kiku twisted the knob. "Stay safe, Alfred." He opened the door. "Don't do anything too reckless." He took a step into the hall. "I love you, Alfred. I really do."

And then he was gone.

Alfred fell back against the bed, closing his eyes against the sudden onslaught of tears that threatened to overwhelm him. He lay on his back, feeling as if his heart was shattering in his chest, and thought, _I need you, Kiku. Please, come back_.

.

Lovino stretched out across the couch and closed his eyes. The small skirmish of a Southern Italian boat against the English navy had left his body bruised and sore. Grimacing at the stiffness in his limbs, he settled back against the worn fabric and tried to relax.

"Fratello!"

Lovino groaned. "Feli, go away. I'm trying to sleep." Keeping his eyes firmly closed, Lovino tried to ignore his younger brother.

"But, but, Lovino, I brought someone to see you!"

"Make them go away."

"Hola, Lovino!"

His eyes flew open and he shrank back in surprise as emerald eyes appeared in front of his face. The obnoxiously cheerful face of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo blinked down at him.

"Did I wake you?" Antonio asked.

"Stupid bastard," Lovino muttered. "I was trying to sleep."

"I'm sorry, Lovi!" Antonio cried. "I didn't mean to bother you."

Lovino tried to ignore him. He shifted his position until he was curled up against the back of the couch. The motion pulled at his stiff limbs and he couldn't suppress the groan that escaped his lips.

"Aww! Lovi, are you hurt?" Antonio sat down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. Lovino tensed at the unexpected warmth that spread through his shoulder.

"No!" Lovino snapped. Then he relented when he saw Antonio's hurt expression. "I'm not hurt, I'm just sore. There was a battle last night."

Antonio's eyes softened. He opened his mouth to speak, but then glanced at Feliciano. "Hey, Feli, why don't you go see if Ludwig needs any help?"

Feliciano's eyes brightened. "Ve! That sounds like fun!" He scurried from the room without further prompting. Antonio got up and closed the door. When he sat back down, he was quiet. Lovino turned his head to look at the Spaniard and was surprised to see how serious Antonio's expression was.

"What's your problem?" Lovino demanded.

Antonio smiled, but it was small and didn't reach his eyes. "Was it a bad battle, Lovi?"

Lovino's cheeks flushed and he lowered his eyes. "No, it really wasn't. A few ships were damaged, but nothing sunk and none of my men were lost. They're all safe in port now."

"I'm glad," Antonio murmured. He put his hands on Lovino's shoulders. "Where does it hurt?"

Lovino blinked at him, confused by the abrupt shift in conversation. "Why?"

"Lovi, just tell me," Antonio insisted.

Lovino sighed. Grimacing, he traced the line of soreness from his shoulders to his spine. "My arms hurt, too, a little, but it's not a big deal."

Antonio sighed, too. "I'm sorry, Lovi. I didn't want another war, but it looks like we have no choice. I'm not sure I can protect you anymore, but of course I'm going to try my hardest."

"Why bother?" Lovino scoffed. "I don't need you to protect me, you stupid bastard."

Chuckling, Antonio ruffled Lovino's hair. "Everyone needs someone to protect them, Lovi."

Lovino scowled and smacked his hand away, but then cringed as the movement pulled at his sore muscles. Antonio sobered and looked at him for a moment, face drawn in concern. The expression tugged at Lovino's heart, but he did his best to ignore it as the blush faded from his cheeks. He turned his head away as Antonio shifted his hands back down to Lovino's shoulders.

"What do you think you're doing, bastard?" Lovino demanded.

"Just trust me," Antonio said. He cracked his knuckles and then began to rub, gently at first, at the sore spots Lovino had pointed out. Almost instantly, relief flooded him. He gasped, eyes closing halfway as he sagged against the cushions, mumbling inarticulate noises of pleasure.

"Shh, Lovi," Antonio murmured. "Just relax."

Lovino sighed happily as Antonio began to sing. The soft Spanish lullaby soothed the tension in his body. He let his eyes close as he relaxed into Antonio's arms, suddenly too tired to care.

"Rest, mi corazon," Antonio whispered as Lovino fell asleep.

Feliciano burst through the door of Ludwig's office, sending a carefully stacked pile of papers tumbling to the ground.

"Luddy!" he called. "Antonio said I should see if you need any help!"

"Nein, Feliciano." Ludwig turned slowly, his blue eyes far away. "I can manage. Go on back to your brother."

Feliciano pouted. "But, Luddy! I want to help you!"

Ludwig shook his head. "I said no, Feliciano. You're no good with war data. It will only upset you. Go on, now." He sat down in his big office chair and pulled out a few papers, but Feliciano could tell that he wasn't focused. His eyes slid back and forth across the page without really seeing what was there. His blonde hair, normally styled to perfection, was disheveled and hung limply around his face. Feliciano frowned.

"Luddy, are you okay?" he asked softly.

"Ja, I'm fine," Ludwig said. Then he shook his head and looked down. "Nein, I am not. I am exhausted, Feliciano, but this work needs to be done. I can't sleep now."

"You can't keep working if you're exhausted!" Feliciano cried. He hurried over to Ludwig and slid into the chair beside him, automatically hugging him tightly. "Take a nap, Luddy, even if it's only for an hour. You need to rest."

Ludwig shook his head stubbornly. "Nein, I will be fine." A yawn punctured his words.

"Luddy!" Feliciano insisted. "You need a nap. Come with me." He tugged on Ludwig's hand, half expecting the stubborn German to keep resisting, and smiled when Ludwig stood up. A tingly warmth spread through his hand as he pulled Ludwig down the hall to his room. On the windowsill, a sat sunbathed in the last rays of the dying sun. Feliciano shooed it away and closed the window.

"Feliciano," Ludwig asked, "why do you care so much about my wellbeing?"

There was a deeper question hidden in there, but Feliciano couldn't understand. Wasn't it obvious why he cared?" "Because you're my best friend, Luddy!" he exclaimed.

Ludwig exhaled slowly. "Of course," he said.

Feliciano took his hand again and brought him over to the bed. "You're my best friend and I don't like to see you hurt or worried so you need to take better care of yourself!"

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. He stiffened, suddenly afraid that he had said the wrong thing, but Ludwig only smiled and hugged him.

"Thank you, Feliciano."

Feliciano blushed brightly and smiled up at Ludwig. "You're welcome!" he said. Then he tried to make a serious face as he pushed Ludwig down on the bed. "Now, it's time for you to take a nap."

Ludwig chuckled as he rolled onto his side. "Are you staying?" he asked softly.

The wild fluttering in his chest made it hard for Feliciano to answer. He dry swallowed and tried to clear his throat. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked breathlessly.

"Ja."

Feliciano couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. He curled up against Ludwig's chest and closed his eyes as warm arms surrounded him, pulling him close. Ludwig's head came down to rest on his shoulder. Feliciano sighed happily.

"Luddy," Feliciano whispered, "you make me feel safe."

"Ja, Feliciano," Ludwig murmured. His voice was already heavy with sleep. "You make me feel safe, too."

The fluttering in his chest increased at Ludwig's words and Feliciano's cheeks turned a bright shade of red. He nestled against Ludwig and pulled the large German closer.

"Good night, Luddy," Feliciano whispered.

.

_The door was closed, but he knew what was behind it. He could already see her sweet, angelic face in his mind. He could hear her adorable voice calling his name,_

_He was already in love with her, though they had never really spoken._

_Oh, how he longed to tell her. He was afraid, though. What did he have to offer her? She was afraid of him, he could tell. She always ran when he chased her._

_Tiptoeing forward, he snuck the door open a crack._

_There she was. The frilly dress made her look adorable. His heart pounded in his chest and his cheeks colored. He couldn't stop himself from staring at her turned back._

_Almost as if she sensed him, she turned around. A frightened squeak escaped her lips, and she clutched the push broom tighter._

_His eyes widened and he shut the door immediately. Hurrying away, he wondered,_ why is she afraid of me?

Ludwig's eyes flew open. He took a deep breath to calm his beating heart. The room was dark, the sun long since having set. Beside him Feliciano slept, his face peaceful.

As he watched, the sleeping Italian stirred. Feliciano yawned wildly. His eyes flickered open for a moment. A sigh escaped his lips as he settled closer to Ludwig.

"Holy Rome," Feliciano whispered.

Ludwig blinked. _Holy Rome_?

He knew, historically, what the Holy Roman Empire had been. It had been his predecessor, one of the many European empires that had formed and disbanded before his birth. He knew that the representative of the empire had long since passed on. When he had been younger, Ludwig had often asked Gilbert about the Holy Roman Empire's representative, but Gilbert would never tell him more than how the nation had died: a battle with France.

Francis hadn't been much help, either. Ludwig had gone to him once to question him about the death of the former nation. Francis had been evasive, dodging his questions until Ludwig had finally given up and gone home.

Carefully, Ludwig disentangled himself from Feliciano and walked to the window. The German countryside was bathed in moonlight, making the leaves and grass shine with an ethereal silver glow.

"It's beautiful."

Ludwig started as Feliciano's soft hand slipped into his.

"I thought you were asleep. Did I wake you?"

Feliciano shook his head, curl bouncing wildly. "No, I was awake. I was watching you sleep. You look more peaceful."

Blinking, Ludwig looked down at the small Italian. "You were watching me?"

"Of course!" Feliciano nodded. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Ludwig's lips. He ruffled Feliciano's hair and then hugged his friend tightly.

"Danke, Feliciano," he mumbled. Then he cleared his throat. "Why did you let me sleep for so long? I still have a lot of work to do and I only wanted to sleep for an hour."

"You needed the sleep, Luddy! Even the strongest person in the world can't go for very long without sleeping." Feliciano's eyebrows drew together and his curl drooped. "I'm worried about you, Luddy. Promise me that you'll take better care of yourself."

"Feliciano, we are nation representatives. Our countries come first. We do not matter."

"Of course we matter!" Feliciano cried. He placed his hand over Ludwig's heart. "We're human, Luddy. We have thoughts and feelings. We love, hate, marry, and make friends – just like normal people! We do matter, Luddy." His voice softened. "You matter to me."

Ludwig's breath caught in his throat. Feliciano's wide amber eyes stared up at him with an unreadable expression. A shiver ran down Ludwig's spine as Feliciano tilted his head up and stood on the tips of his toes. Ludwig tilted his head down and closed his eyes, reaching for Feliciano, _needing_ Feliciano –

The space in front of him was suddenly empty. Ludwig opened his eyes.

"No, no," Feliciano mumbled, shaking his head. There were tears in his eyes. Fearing that he had done something wrong, Ludwig reached to brush them away.

"No!" Feliciano cried. He stumbled backwards, away from Ludwig's outstretched hand. "No, I'm sorry, Luddy, I just can't."

"O-Okay." Ludwig turned away. His cheeks burned bright red as a thousand feelings raced through his mind. "I did not mean to assume. Please, forgive me."

"No, Luddy, this isn't your fault! This is mine!" Feliciano covered his face with his hands and took a shuddering breath through his fingers. "I want to, Luddy, I do. But I'm in love with someone else. I can't do this to him, not when he promised he would come back to me."

"Of course." Ludwig turned away. "I understand." He walked away from the room, ignoring the shaking fingers that tried to clutch his hand.

The meeting room was stifling. Arthur loosened his tie and fanned himself. His eyes kept straying to the clock as his stomach rumbled in time with the ticking hands. He had spent the better part of eight hours locked inside an overcrowded room with dignitaries and military commanders from around the world.

"Is it time for lunch yet?" he complained. "It's two in the bloody afternoon. I'm starving and I haven't eaten all day."

Francis stirred from the chair he was slumped in. "Angleterre, we are all hungry," he mumbled. "It is no use complaining." His head slowly lowered and his eyes closed again.

Arthur walked over to Francis and sat in the chair beside him. The Frenchman had been quiet and subdued for most of the morning. It had been a week since they had spent the night together, and Arthur already missed the comfort of Francis' arms, though he would never admit it. Nightmares of bombings and vicious beach fighting had plagued his sleeping hours. Two hours of sleep were all he had to live on. From the exhaustion in Francis' face, Arthur could guess that his ally was having the same problem.

"Francis." Arthur touched his shoulder lightly. "You should come to my room tonight. You look like you could use a good night's sleep."

Francis nodded and opened his eyes, blinking at Arthur wearily. "I could," he agreed softly. "I have not been sleeping well."

"Neither have I," Arthur admitted. He glanced up at the rest of the room. The nations were all nodding off in their chairs, or yawning and rubbing their eyes. In the corner, Alfred sat with his head bowed. His eyes were unfocused and dull.

Francis was nodding off again. Arthur got up and snuck away.

"Hey, Alfred," Arthur greeted the American. "You look a little down. Is something wrong?"

His former colony looked up and blinked a few times. "Oh," Alfred said. "It's you."

"Of course it's me!" Arthur snapped. "Who the bloody hell were you expecting?"

"No one," Alfred muttered. "I'm just tired."

"We all are," Arthur sighed. "Why don't we postpone the meeting until tomorrow? I'm sure all of us could use a good night's sleep. Besides, nothing much is happening. The Axis Powers are relatively quiet. One night won't hurt."

"I guess." He stood up. "Hey, guys," he called, "we're going to call it quits for today. The nations have been overworking themselves, and since there's not much going on we can afford one night off. We'll meet again tomorrow at noon."

The others nodded their agreement and slowly dispersed. Arthur watched them leave, and then made his way across the room to where Francis sat, snoring softly in his chair.

"Wake up." Arthur nudged Francis. "The meeting is over."

Francis opened his eyes and regarded Arthur warily. "What are you doing, Angleterre?"

Arthur blinked at how guarded Francis' expression was. "Waking you up, Frog. The meeting is over."

Blinking, Francis glanced around. "Oh. I must have fallen asleep."

Arthur tilted his head. "Francis, are you okay? You don't look so well."

Francis slowly shook his head. "Non, Angleterre, I am not."

"What's wrong?" Arthur sat down beside him.

"I . . . I can't sleep at night, Angleterre. The nightmares are driving me crazy."

"I get them, too." Arthur said softly. "They seem so real. It's like I'm still trapped in World War II, getting bombed and fighting my way through Normandy."

Francis flinched. "Don't say that. I-I can still hear it. The screams. I can still feel them die. I felt every single one of those deaths, Angleterre, even those who died fighting for the Axis Powers. They were in my country. They were on my soil, my land, my home." The anguish in Francis' voice brought tears to Arthur's eyes, but he let the agonized nation continue. "I can't get them out of my head, Angleterre. Even awake they haunt me."

"I'm sorry, Francis." Arthur hesitated, but then slipped an arm around Francis' shoulder and drew him closer. "We could have saved those lives, but we made some really stupid mistakes. We were all bloody fools."

"I don't want to be in this war," Francis whispered. "I want there to be peace."

"I know," Arthur murmured. "It'll be okay, though." He ran a hand through Francis' wavy blonde hair. "For now, all we can do is hope for the best. You need some sleep, though. Come on, Francis." He tugged the Frenchman to his feet and took his hand, pointedly ignoring the red flush that threatened to creep along his cheeks.

Francis followed, leaning on Arthur heavily. They made their way to Arthur's room slowly, their progress halted by Francis's obvious exhaustion. When they finally reached his room, Arthur's arms burned with the effort of helping Francis walk.

"Good God, Francis," he snapped as he finally opened his door. "When was the last time you slept?"

The Frenchman's eyes flickered open. "With you," he mumbled.

Some of the scarlet crept into his cheeks. "Bloody brilliant. You need sleep, you know. If you were that tired, why didn't you come to me before?"

"I didn't want to bother you."

Arthur closed the door and helped Francis sit on the bed. Francis slumped back against the headboard and closed his eyes.

"You're not a bother," Arthur said gruffly. "Did it ever occur to you that I might be having trouble sleeping, too?"

Francis said nothing. Arthur reached over and slid Francis' jacket off his shoulders. His shoes followed. Then Arthur shrugged out of his own jacket and shoes.

"Angleterre," Francis murmured.

"What, Frog?"

Blue eyes opened slowly. "I've missed you."

Arthur's cheeks reddened. "Don't say that, you stupid frog. Just shut up and go to sleep already."

"Do you sing?"

"No, I do not bloody sing!" Arthur exclaimed hotly. "Why the hell are you asking me that?"

Francis chuckled quietly. "I was hoping for a lullaby."

"Shut it, Frog! Who do you think you are, asking me to sing to you?"

A small smile was his only answer. Arthur lowered his eyes and stared at his hands, fidgeting as an uncomfortable heat spread through his chest. He leaned forward, almost unconsciously lacing his fingers with Francis'.

"Do you think you'll be able to sleep tonight?" Arthur asked softly.

Francis nodded as he sunk down further into the pillows and blankets. Silently, he held his arms out to Arthur.

Arthur hesitated, but the offer was too tempting. He lay down against Francis' side, nestling against the Frenchman's warmth. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he closed his eyes.

"Better?" Francis murmured against his ear.

Arthur shivered, heart beating faster as he hid his face. "Sh-Shut it, Frog!" he stammered. "This doesn't mean anything."

Soft laughter sent a shiver down his spine. He opened his eyes and peeked up at Francis, suddenly struck by how beautiful Francis's blue eyes were.

"It may not mean anything to you, Angleterre, but this means the world to me." Thin fingers began to run through Arthur's hair and he sighed, relaxing into the Frenchman's arms. His eyes drifted closed again.

"Seep, Angleterre," Francis whispered. "You need it as much as I do."

"Francis. "Arthur stirred, half asleep. "Stay."

"Of course I will, Angleterre. I'll always stay with you."

Soft lips pressed against the top of Arthur's head as the world around him faded.

.

It was dark when he awoke. His hands were bound behind his back. A trickle of blood dripped on to the floor.

"Ah. You're awake."

A light was turned on. Matthew blinked away the spots in his eyes.

"Who are you?" he whispered. "What do you want with me?"

His captor moved into the light. Cruel blue eyes observed him from beneath wavy blonde hair. A single strand of curly hair stuck out of the top of his head. When he spoke, it was with Matthew's soft whisper.

"Don't you recognize me, Matthew?" I'm you."

"How?" Matthew demanded.

"Easy. I'm your dark self. As for what I want, well . . ." The laugh that followed sent a shiver down Matthew's spine. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the next words.

"I want the world."


	3. Chapter 3

SORRY IT'S SO LATE! My editor had a bit of a crisis and it didn't get edited until Christmas, and I've been busy since then and didn't have a chance to look it over. But it's here now, and I'm going to try to post twice in the next week. No guarantees, though.

I feel the need to add a note about the timeline of the story. Yes, it jumps around a little. These first three chapters are kind of the opening to the rest of the story. The three chapters covered a span of around 2-3 weeks following the declaration of war. The pace is going to pick up a little in the next chapter. So, yeah. I'll get right on that. ^u^

* * *

The first thing he realized was that he was abnormally comfortable. He stirred, sighing softly as gentle fingers combed through his hair. Warmth spread through him as he nestled against someone's side, breathing in their familiar smell.

"Good morning, Lovi!" Antonio cried.

Lovino was startled out of his peaceful moment. He flinched and sat up, instantly backing away from the warmth of Antonio's arms. "Bastard!" he exclaimed. "What do you think you're doing?"

Antonio blinked and seemed puzzled. "Holding you, of course. What else would I be doing?"

"What gives you the right to do that? I was perfectly fine sleeping by myself!"

"But Lovi!" Antonio pouted. "You were sore, remember? I helped you fall asleep." He smiled, obnoxiously cheerful. "You looked so cute when you were asleep!"

"You stupid bastard! I am not cute." Lovino turned his face away, trying to hide the blush that colored his cheeks. Unfortunately, Antonio noticed.

"Awe! Qué lindo!" Antonio giggled and hugged him. Lovino wriggled away.

"Get off me, bastard! Do you always have to be this annoying?" He scowled and crossed his arms. "I have work to do, and so do you. Why don't you go make yourself useful for once?" Ignoring Antonio's hurt expression, he stomped from the room.

Back in his bedroom, Lovino slammed his door and collapsed on his bed. Antonio's hurt expression haunted him. Damn it all, why did he always have to mess everything up?

It was this damn war. All the little battles and border skirmishes were putting him on edge and making him lash out at everyone. It needed to end, and it needed to end soon. With shaking fingers, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number he had never expected to use.

"Bloody hell, what do you want?"

Lovino lowered his voice. "Arthur? It's Lovino. We need to talk."

.

The ivory keys were cool and smooth under Roderich's fingers. They glided effortlessly over the keys, picking out a somber, haunting melody.

"You still play beautifully."

Roderich sighed, "What do I have to do to get even five minutes of peace in this house?"

Gilbert grinned from where he stood, just inside the door. "What's peace?"

Frowning, Roderich said, "I came here to be alone, Gilbert. I would appreciate it if you could respect that and leave the room."

Gilbert took a pointed step forward. Roderich's eyes narrowed.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt. All I ask is for one hour of peace. Would you kindly go make a nuisance of yourself in some other part of this house?"

The Prussian's expression darkened and he turned his face away. "Of course. I forgot that I'm just a nuisance to everyone. Excuse me for not being a country anymore." He took a step towards the door.

"Gilbert, you are the most ridiculously self-centered person I have ever met."

"Eh?" Gilbert paused and looked back. "What do you mean, Specs?"

Roderich self-consciously adjusted his glasses. "First of all, my name is not Specs. I have asked you numerous times to stop calling me by that ridiculous nickname. Second, I mean that all you think about is yourself. You have had decades to accept the fact that you are no longer a nation, yet you mope around as if it happened yesterday."

Gilbert's expression was unreadable. "Forgive me, _Roderich_," he said stiffly. "I wasn't aware that was how you felt. I apologize for burdening you with my petty troubles."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to say, Gilbert!" Roderich exclaimed. "It's not that you're being a burden; it's that you're being excessively overdramatic about it! You keep moping around, using it as an excuse to be pissy and obnoxious. If any of us say anything about it, you pout and shove your dissolution down your throats so we feel bad for you. It's pathetic, Gilbert. If you want to be a nation again, then fight for it!" Roderich paused, lowering his voice as he took a step towards Gilbert. "What happened to the Gilbert I used to know?" He took another step forward. "What happened to that guy who never gave up, no matter what?"

Gilbert turned his head away. "He doesn't exist anymore."

Roderich's eyes softened. He stepped forward again and put a hand on Gilbert's shoulder. "He could, Gil. If you let him, he could exist again."

"Don't touch me." Gilbert's eyes and voice were colder than Roderich had ever seen. He flinched away, dropping his hands.

"Gil?" he asked.

"I don't need your pity," Gilbert snapped. "That's all anyone ever does – pity me! Oh, poor Gilbert, he lost his country. Let's be extra nice to him so he doesn't go kill himself!"

Realization dawned in Roderich's mind. "That's why you're always getting in people's faces," he said slowly. "You want them to be annoyed. You want them to yell at you. You think that if you do that, they won't pity you anymore." He reached for Gilbert. "Oh, God, Gilbert. I –"

"No." Gilbert stepped away from Roderich's outstretched arms. "You're wrong. About everything." He stepped towards the door. "You wanted peace, Roderich. You got it." He disappeared through the open doorway before Roderich could stop him.

Sighing, Roderich took his seat in front of the piano again. His fingers hovered over the keys, but nothing came to him. The muse had fled, leaving the unfamiliar silence and a sense of barely suppressed longing.

.

The first scream woke him.

Yao bolted out of bed, still muddled with sleep and convinced the house was under attack. Another scream tore through the night, sending shivers racing down his spine. He bursts through his door and looked around wildly for the source of the screaming.

Silence greeted him. His head shook back and forth, looking both ways down the hall. Had he imagined it? Surely someone was being tortured, with the way they had been screaming.

"Ivan?" he called hesitantly. He started down the hallway towards Ivan's bedroom. Pausing outside the door, Yao could hear muffled whimpering and Ivan's soft whisper.

"Stay quiet, da?" Ivan crooned. "We would not want our little guests to hear you."

"Please," a voice whimpered. "Let me go!"

"Nyet, Lithuania. It has been so long since we have had a chance to have a little fun together. You should enjoy yourself, da?"

Yao burst through the door. "What's going on in here?"

Ivan froze, a metal pipe raised above Toris' head. One end dripped blood. "Little Yao! What are you doing up? You should go back to sleep, da?"

Yao took a few steps into the room. "What are you doing to him?"

"That is none of your concern, Yao." The hidden malice in Ivan's voice sent a shiver of fear down Yao's spine. He knew the rumors; for years the other nations had speculated at Ivan's treatment of the Baltics, but Yao had never imagined that any of the stories were true.

"It is my concern!" Yao shot back. "You're hurting him!"

"What is your point? He deserves a punishment. He has misbehaved."

"No!" Yao cried. He lunged forward and snatched the pipe out of Ivan's hand. "No one deserves this as a punishment, Ivan. You need to let him go, aru."

Something in Ivan's eyes flickered. He slumped backwards, falling heavily onto his bed. Yao dropped the pipe and hurried over to Toris. The Lithuanian lay sprawled on his back with his legs spread open and blood pooling between his thighs. Pain shone under a sheen of unshed tears.

"Oh, God. T-Toris, what do I do, aru?"

"Get Feliks," Toris whispered.

Yao nodded. With one last glance at Ivan, he ran from the room. Thankfully, Feliks' room was only a few doors down. Without stopping, he barged through the door. Feliks was snoring loudly in his bed.

"Feliks!" Yao yelled. "Wake up, Toris needs you!"

Feliks' eyes flew open. "Huh?"

"Ivan got to Toris. He needs your help!"

Feliks was out of his bed and halfway to the door before Yao had finished speaking. He followed the panicked Pole back into Ivan's room. Feliks crouched down beside Toris, hugging him and murmuring to him in Lithuanian. Feeling out of place, Yao hesitantly sat beside Ivan.

The Russian hadn't moved. He sat with his head bowed and covered by his hands. Yao put a trembling hand on his shoulder.

"Ivan?"

There was no response. Unsure, Yao looked at the two nations on the floor. He watched, wordless, as Feliks gently gathered Toris in his arms and stood up. When they were almost to the door, he finally spoke.

"Is Toris going to be okay?" he asked softly.

Feliks hesitated. "Yes." he said after a long moment. "I think he will be."

As their footsteps faded away, Ivan moved again. He leaned against Yao, shifting closer to his fellow nation. Yao's heart thudded at their closeness.

"Why did you do it, Ivan?' he asked softly.

"I do not know. It is what I always do."

"Why, though?"

"Are you a psychiatrist now?"

Yao smiled at the faint amusement in Ivan's voice. "I'm not a psychiatrist, aru. I just know that everything has a reason. Why are you hurting him like that, Ivan?"

Ivan fell silent. He lowered his head, body trembling. Yao's heart beat faster as he slid his arms around the Russian's waist and pulled him closer. A small sigh escaped Ivan's lips as he relaxed into Yao's arms.

"Yao," he murmured, "would it be too much to ask you to stay with me tonight?"

His breath caught in his throat. "Of course I'll stay," he whispered breathlessly. He felt Ivan relax as the Russian sat up and began pulling off his extra layers of clothes. His long overcoat was discarded, as well as the sweater he wore underneath. Yao tried not to stare at the smooth skin, muscle rippling just below the surface, as Ivan stretched. He was suddenly struck by how small and weak he seemed. He had never been muscular, and the last recession had left his body frail and far too thin.

He shifted, acutely aware of Ivan's scrutiny. Eyes averted, he waited patiently for the Russian to change into a pair of red pajama pants. Ivan's scarf stayed on.

"You seem nervous, Yao."

Yao shook his head and clenched his fists to keep them from shaking. "No, aru," he said. "Why would I be nervous?"

Ivan sat beside him on the bed. "I frighten you, da?" I would not be surprised. I frighten everyone I meet." There was a surprising note of regret in his voice. Yao reached out and touched Ivan's shoulder.

"I'm not afraid of you, Ivan," he said softly. "I think you're confused, but not dangerous. I know you won't hurt me."

"I hurt Toris."

"I know." He hesitated, but then gently pushed Ivan back until they were both laying down. He slid his arms around Ivan's waist and tried to control the furious blush in his cheeks. "I also know that you won't hurt me."

Ivan trembled at his touch and hid his face against the pillows. "How do you know? I hurt everyone. I can't control myself."

"Shh," Yao whispered. He pulled Ivan closer, angling his neck to watch the Russian's expression. "Just relax. Do you want to take your scarf off?"

"No!" Ivan exclaimed. "No, the scarf stays on. Do not touch it, Yao."

Confused, Yao blinked. "Aren't you afraid of choking in your sleep?"

Ivan shook his head. "That would not kill me. It does not concern me." He stretched his large body and then curled up against Yao's chest. One arm wrapped loosely around Yao's waist the other clutched at his hand and pulled the Asian nation closer. Yao's heart thudded in his chest as he gazed into the violet eyes.

"Go to sleep," Yao murmured. "You'll feel better in the morning."

Nodding slowly, Ivan said, "Da, I think I will." A yawn escaped as he nestled against Yao's chest. Within seconds, his eyes were drooping.

Yao watched him with a soft smile. Almost unthinkingly, he began to hum the lullaby he used to sing to Kiku when he had looked after his little brother. After a few seconds, he started to sing. Ivan sighed happily and closed his eyes.

"You sing beautifully," Ivan murmured.

Yao kissed his forehead. "Thank you, aru. Now go to sleep." He ran his fingers through Ivan's silver hair as he kept singing. After a few minutes, Ivan's body relaxed and his breathing evened out. Yao smiled softly and settled closer to him. Though the room was cold, it was warm and comfortable in Ivan's arms. His eyes drooped as he yawned drowsily. Sighing contentedly, he relaxed into Ivan's arms and fell asleep.

.

Feliks dipped the cloth into water and started cleaning off the blood on Toris' legs. The Lithuanian's eyes were closed and he flinched whenever Toris touched him.

"Toris, are you okay?" he asked softly. "Did he, like, hurt you anywhere else?"

Toris shook his head. "N-No, j-just there." His voice was just under a whisper and almost too soft for Feliks to hear the edge of pain. He rinsed out the cloth again. The blood was beginning to dry between his legs, giving Feliks the uncomfortable feeling that Ivan had used his favorite form of torture – his pipe – on Toris.

"Was it the pipe?"

Toris nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry, Liet."

"Don't worry about it," Toris said. "It's not your fault."

"He shouldn't be doing that to you!" Feliks exclaimed. "It's, like, not right! Something needs to be done about him."

"Something is being done." Toris opened his eyes. "Yao is here."

"What does that have to do with Ivan?"

Toris smiled faintly. "I think Yao is in love with Ivan."

Feliks snorted. "What, like, makes you think that? It's Ivan, Liet. Who could love him?"

"Yao could!" Toris exclaimed. "Anyone else would have fussed over me, like you did, or left the room to avoid Ivan. He should be packing his bags right now while he still has a chance to get out. Instead, he was more concerned with how Ivan was doing. Didn't you see it? And I'll bet you anything that Ivan and Yao are sleeping together right now."

Feliks wrinkled his nose. "Like, doing it?"

"No, silly. I mean they're actually sleeping. You know, in each other's arms and stuff." The look of wistful longing that crossed his face sent a pang of heartache through Feliks' chest. He set the cloth down and touched Toris' cheek.

"You should, like, come to bed with me tonight."

Pain spasmed across Toris's face. "Feliks, I –"

"Liet. I don't mean like that." He ran a gentle hand through Toris' hair. "I mean, I want to, like, hold you and, like, keep your safe. Now that I know what Ivan is doing to you, I don't think I can sleep without knowing that you're, like, safe in my arms and stuff."

A small smile spread across Toris' face. Feliks grinned back and ruffled Toris' hair. Some of the color had started to return to the Lithuanian's face, and the bleeding had finally stopped. He washed off the last of the dried blood. Then he lifted Toris in his arms and carried him up to their bedroom. Toris leaned against him, resting his head on Feliks' shoulder.

"I'll get you some clothes," Feliks said. He set Toris on the bed and rummaged through his drawers until he found a pair of pajama pants. Toris took them and slid them on, grimacing in pain.

"I'm sore," he mumbled. "It's not as bad as it could be, though. Yao stopped Ivan before he could do that much damage."

"Are your ribs still hurting?"

Toris flinches. "They're almost healed. You know it takes a while for us to heal."

"Liet, it's been, like, almost a week!" Feliks slid onto the bed and hugged Toris gently. "It shouldn't be taking this long for you to heal. Your economy isn't that bad, so it has to be something else. Are you eating?"

He was silent. Feliks looked up at him, alarmed. "Liet? When was the last time you had something to eat?"

Toris shrugged and stayed quiet. Feliks sat up and grabbed Toris' arm.

"Liet! You have to eat something! Come on, I'll, like, make you a whole feast right now." He started to get up, but Toris grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

"Feliks relax," he said. "I haven't been eating because I can't stomach food right now. Just lay back down, okay? I just want to sleep." His words ended in a yawn.

Feliks' eyes softened. He lay back down, pulling Toris into his arms. "Okay, Liet. I'll make you breakfast in the morning. You've got to get better, 'kay?"

"Mmm," Toris mumbled. His eyes were already closed and his breathing was starting to slow. Feliks smiled softly, kissed his forehead, and settled down beside him, falling asleep easily.

.

The days that had passed seemed empty and meaningless to Kiku. The war had begun with a few minor skirmishes in Europe, but nothing had affected him yet. His nights were spent longing for the comfort and security of Alfred's arms. Sleep had evaded him for days, until he was tired enough to fall asleep standing up.

A yawn escaped his throat and he stretched, arching his back. Across the room, Feliciano slept peacefully, curled up on the seat of his meeting chair. Ludwig stood by the window, lost in thought.

The room had been silent since after lunch. Their meeting that morning had been full of war plans that had all been discarded. The large meeting table was littered with half-written war plans and discarded summaries.

"There is no other option."

Ludwig spoke for the first time in well over two hours.

"What do you mean?" Kiku asked.

"There is no other option," Ludwig repeated. "I will have to initiate a full scale invasion."

Kiku's eyes widened. "Is the situation that desperate? Wouldn't it be better to wait and see what the Allies are planning?"

"Nein. I have to show them that we are prepared. My people do not want to go to war, but I can convince them. If we wait for the Allies to move, we'll be at a huge disadvantage." He began to pace. "What country should it be, though?"

"France or Poland," Kiku replied immediately. "We need France to get to England, and we need Poland to hold the eastern front against Russia."

Ludwig nodded. "Ja, you are right. We need to keep all of them occupied with defense instead of attacking. I'll send bombers to France and invade Poland. With any luck we'll have Poland under our control before the others have a chance to militarize. What will you do?"

Kiku looked down. "I will invade China again."

"Are you sure?"

"Hai, I am."

"Okay, Kiku." Ludwig nodded again. "It's your decision. Hopefully China will fall easily this time." He paused for a moment. "This goes without saying: they must not find out about this, Kiku. Ready your troops as quickly as you can. I want you on Chinese soil by this time next month. I'll send my bombers out in two weeks. That will give me enough time to marshal my troops and call the people to battle."

"Hai," Kiku repeated. "I can get my troops ready."

Ludwig sighed heavily. His face was grim. "Good. You are dismissed, Kiku."

Kiku bowed and left the room.

.

Ludwig fell heavily into his chair. Drained and exhausted, he pondered how his invasion would play out. Invading the Poland the first time had been simple, if time-consuming, but times had changed. The defensive structures were bound to have gone through heavy changes since the war had ended. He would need careful planning and a new network of informants.

In his chair, Feliciano stirred. His curl twitched as he lifted his head.

"Vet, Luddy? Are you sleeping?"

"Nein." Ludwig coughed lightly and sat up. "I am very busy, though, and I should be going now."

A soft hand reached out and clung to the hem of his shirt. "Luddy, can we talk? How long are you going to keep ignoring me?"

"I am not ignoring you," Ludwig replied stiffly. "I am just very preoccupied with the war right now. I do not have time to talk."

Feliciano looked down, eyes turning sad. "I understand, Luddy. Do you, uh, want me to come to your room tonight?"

"Nein."

Feliciano flinched. Ludwig hurried to explain.

"I will be up for a while. I don't want to disturb you. It's for the best, Feliciano."

"Of course," Feliciano said quietly. "It's for the best." A tear slipped down his cheek and he bolted before Ludwig could say anything.

Another weary sigh escaped his lips. He sat back in his office chair and rubbed his eyes. The past few days had passed far too slowly for his liking. They were spent in painful war meetings with his boss and Kiku, or filing the astronomically ridiculous amounts of paperwork that was required to maintain a large army. Most of all, though, they were spent avoiding Feliciano.

The night in the bedroom was never far from Ludwig's mind. He could still feel Feliciano's warm body pressed against his and smell the crisp, alluring scent of the Italian's cologne. For three nights Ludwig had gone to bed craving Feliciano's warmth with a passion that he had never imagined he could feel about anything.

His skin tingled where Feliciano's hand had clutched at his shirt only moments ago. As he sat, wondering at the strange tightness in his chest, the world around him seemed to fade back to the black and white it had been before Feliciano had entered his life all those many years ago.

_What is it that I feel?_ Ludwig wondered.

He knew what his boss would say. The memory of the holocaust was still fresh in everyone's mind, despite the decades that had passed. His people were quick to ostracize those who were different. If he and Feliciano . . .

_Nein_, he thought. _Feliciano is my friend. It is only natural that I would crave his company. This is nothing more than a strong friendship_.

Running a hand through his styled hair, Ludwig stood up and began to pace. The room grew dim around him as he lost himself in his thoughts of war and survival.

.

The first thing he realized was that it was far too warm. Heated radiated from his right side, making his stomach ache. He shifted, groaning.

"Angleterre?"

"Francis?" Arthur blinked his eyes open and rubbed them slowly. The Frenchman was curled around him. The warmth he had felt had been Francis' stomach and chest pressing against him. Color bloomed in his cheeks at the realization.

Francis groaned and opened bloodshot eyes. "Angleterre," he said again. His voice cracked with effort.

Suddenly worried, Arthur pressed the back of his hand to Francis' forehead. His eyes widened. "You're burning up!" he exclaimed. "Here, let me get a wet cloth for you."

He hurried across the room to the bathroom. Rummaging in a cabinet underneath the sink, he found a wash cloth. He ran the tap water until it was cold, then damped the cloth and hurried back to Francis. The Frenchman's eyes were closed again and his face was drawn in pain. Arthur carefully laid the cloth across his forehead. Francis gasped and began to shiver.

"Shh," Arthur said. He pulled up the blankets and tucked Francis in, then sat beside him. "Does it hurt anywhere?"

"My throat," Francis croaked. Arthur's eyes softened. He knew what it was like to have a cold from the economy. During the Great Depression he had spent weeks bedridden and unable to take care of himself or his house. While economic colds were common in nations, he couldn't remember the last time he had seen one as bad as Francis'.

"Don't talk," he murmured. "You'll only make it worse. Just relax, okay? I'm not going anywhere. I'll take care of you."

"The war?"

Arthur winced at the raspy soreness in Francis' voice. "The war can wait for one day," Arthur declared. "Right now, it's far more important to help you. Let me make a call to my boss and see if I can get you some aid."

Francis nodded once. Arthur hurried out of the room, pulling out his cell phone as he went. His boss answered on the first ring.

"Sir?" Arthur said. "We have a bit of a situation in France. It seems the economy has taken a turn for the worse, and I am concerned about the consequences this could have on the other members of our alliance." He was amazed at how easy it was to sound professionally detached, even as his hands trembled and he tapped his foot, anxious to be back with Francis.

"I have recently been made aware of this," Arthur's boss responded. "As we speak, the Allies are sending over a loan that should help boost their economy. It is a short term solution, but it should suffice for now."

Arthur exhaled slowly. "Excellent. Is there a long term solution in the works?"

"Yes." There was a small pause. "Is Francis doing okay?"

"No. He has a bad cold and can barely speak." Arthur rubbed his eyes with one hand and leaned against the wall. "France needs the aid, and badly. I am cancelling our representative meeting today to give him for the aid to kick in."

"Very well. Keep me informed, Arthur."

"I will, sir."

He said goodbye to his boss and hung up. _Francis is going to be okay_. Then he stood for a moment, trying to understand why he was so relieved at what his boss had said. Sure, he and the Frenchman had known each other for centuries, but they had never been that close. Arthur had never been quite certain if the two of them could be called friends, though Francis seemed to think that they were.

Sighing softly, Arthur was about to head back inside when his phone ring. Confused, he pulled it out of his pocket. _Lovino Vargas_ flashed across the screen.

"Bloody hell, what do you want?" he said as he answered the phone.

"Arthur? It's Lovino. We need to talk."

"What do you want?" Arthur demanded again. "I have nothing to say to you, bastard." His finger twitched toward the END CALL button.

"Wait! Damn it, Arthur, just listen to me!"

"Why should I?" Arthur exclaimed. "We're enemies! You picked Ludwig over us!"

"That's just it!" Lovino hissed. "I didn't get a choice, you ignorant bastard. Feliciano is the one who picked what side we were on. He's the one with all the power, remember?"

Arthur calmed down a little bit. "Well, out with it, then. What do you so desperately need to talk to me about?"

There was a pause. "In person."

"No. Absolutely not. You must think I'm an idiot! No way in Hell would I agree to meet you. You'll probably just try attacking me again."

"I'll come to you. I don't care where. This isn't something I can say over the phone."

"I said no! Stupid Italian, take a hint!"

"Shut up!" Lovino whispered. "You're too loud. They might hear you, and then you're shit out of luck."

"Who is 'they' and why would I be out of luck? Lovino, you're making no damn sense. Besides, I'm not in Europe right now."

"God damn it. Okay, fine, I have an idea. How long would it take you to get into the city?"

Arthur thought back to the insane traffic he had faced trying to get from the airport to Alfred's house outside the city. "An hour, maybe."

"Okay. Here's what I want you to do." Lovino rattled off a list of directions and Arthur listened, growing more incredulous with every passing second.

"You're bloody insane," Arthur grumbled. "You're lucky I'm doing this."

"Yeah, whatever," Lovino said. "I would say I owe you, but after what I have to tell you, I think you'll be the one owing me."

Arthur snorted. "Not likely, Lovino."

"Remember: two hours. Don't be late or you'll miss your chance." Lovino hung up.

More mystified than ever, Arthur ended the call. What could be so important for him to hear? Unless the Italian had an idea for a peaceful solution to the mounting crisis in Europe, Arthur really didn't care what he had to say.

Sneaking out was another matter. He would be gone for close to three hours; what was he supposed to do about Francis? Neither the Frenchman nor the other nations would ever understand why he was going, and there was no one else to take care of him while Arthur was gone.

There was only one solution, Arthur realized glumly. He hurried to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. Then he rummaged through the bag of medicines he had brought with him from his home in London. A small blue bottle caught his eye.

_Aha_, he thought. _Sleeping pills_.

For the past year or so, his nightmares had been returning with increasing frenzy. Looking back Arthur wondered if they had been his subconscious' way of warning himself about the coming war.

He shook two pills out of the bottle. With the flat side of a knife from the drawers, he crushed them and slipped the powder into the drink. Stirring, he watched as it dissolved into the water.

Water in hand, he hurried back to Francis. The Frenchman hadn't moved since he left, but his eyes opened at the sound of Arthur's return.

"You're back."

"Shh, rest your throat," Arthur chastised. "I brought you some water." He sat down beside Francis and held the glass up to his lips, tilting it so the Frenchman could drink. "I talked to my boss. The Allies are sending you some money. You should start to feel better in a little while."

"Thank you, Angleterre," Francis rasped. "For everything."

Arthur helped him drink the rest of the water. "It's no big deal," he said, blushing slightly. "You should get some sleep, though. It'll help."

"I can't."

"Shh," Arthur repeated. He took the cloth off Francis' forehead and laid it on the table beside the bed. "Just close your eyes and go back to sleep. You need rest when you're sick."

Francis shook his head. "I am afraid of what I will dream."

Guilt shot through Arthur's gut like a knife. What had he done? Even as his eyes widened, Francis' drooped a little. He could see the panic in Francis' eyes as the Frenchman realized what was happening.

"N-Non!" he gasped, struggling to keep his eyes opened. "Angleterre, what did you do?"

"I'm sorry, Francis," Arthur whispered. "I have to do something, and this was the only way. I'll explain everything when I come back."

Francis groaned as his eyes closed against his will. "Why?" he whispered hoarsely.

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but Francis was already fast asleep. With shaking fingers he tucked Francis under the covers and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again as he left the room.


End file.
